


if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to

by leapylion3



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bonding, Comic-Con, Crack, Cultural References, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Nerdiness, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I feel ridiculous.” </p>
<p>“You look <em>wonderful</em>, Hermy.”</p>
<p>“Why is it that <em>I</em> have to be the prancing, frolicking elf in a blond wig?” </p>
<p>In which Newt drags Hermann to Comic Con for the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to

**Author's Note:**

> this was an EXTREMELY lengthy process, and beware, crack ahead! 
> 
> quote from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings 
> 
> a HUGE thank you to the wonderful [Tsai](http://tsailanza.tumblr.com/) for drawing a companion piece to this! go and check out her work; she's absolutely amazing!

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I am.”

“Doctor Geiszler, let me remind you that you are _never_ serious-”

“I can change my routine up if I want to!”

Hermann sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. Why on earth did he decide to begin a relationship with the most _childish_ and _irritating_ man he knows? Then again, it’s not as if it was _him_ who decided. He didn’t wake up one day and say, “I want to spend the rest of my life with Doctor Newton Geiszler”. Because, really, who in their right minds _would_ say that?

“I’ll come with you, but I am _not_ wearing that.”

“Then there’s no point in coming! You’re such a party pooper, dude. Not cool.” Once again, _childish_ and _irritating_. What thirty-seven year old man uses the term ‘party pooper’ on a regular basis?

“Doctor Geiszler, really-”

“It’s _Newt_ , remember? Or _Newton_ , if you want to be formal. You’re not my mom, you’re not allowed to call me Doctor Geiszler.” He leans in closer to Hermann, forehead wrinkled endearingly. “I thought we agreed on that when we started this…” He waves his arms around, gesturing to the rumpled sheets on the bed and himself and Hermann.

“Relationship?” Hermann offers with a raised brow.

“Is it, though?”

Hermann sighs again and shifts so that his leg is in a more comfortable position. He doesn’t ask for much, hardly anything at all. But, just once, when Newton decides to wake him up at seven o’clock on a _Saturday morning_ , can’t it be for something romantic? Breakfast in bed, maybe, or a lovely serenade… Then again, Newton’s singing voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard mixed with fire truck sirens. Hermann will take the breakfast in bed, thank you very much.

Newton pouts and nuzzles Hermann’s neck. “Please? For me? Come _ooooon_ , Hermy.” Hermann hates the pet name, has told Newton time and time again to never, under any circumstances, call him that, yet he finds a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He points a finger at Newton and wags it warningly. “But don’t think for a second that I’ll be happy about it.” Newton _really_ owes him one.

Newt grins widely and bounces up and down on the bed, oddly reminding Hermann of an overeager puppy. “Dude, we’re gonna have so much fun, you have no idea! This’ll be the best day _ever_!” He springs out of bed and runs to the washroom, whooping and flailing his arms all the way there. Even with the door shut behind him, Hermann can hear his excited shouting.

Next Saturday is going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

 

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look _wonderful_ , Hermy.”

“Why is it that _I_ have to be the prancing, frolicking elf in a blond wig?”

Newton slings an arm around his shoulder and rests his other hand on the hilt of his replica sword. “Because, let’s face it; out of the two of us, I’m _totally_ Aragorn.” He tosses his head to the side, to get the long hair from the wig out of his face; a few strands catch in Hermann’s mouth, and he spits them out, making raspberry noises with his tongue in the process. “Plus, your cane looks so _sick_! Look at that shit!” He points gleefully to Hermann’s cane in the mirror, decked out to look like a specially carved longbow.

“Ridiculous,” Hermann repeats, shaking his head. He never thought he’d see the day where he wore a platinum blond wig _and_ tights in the same outfit. “I can’t believe I’m letting you _drag_ me to some convention with…with all of you _groupies_!” Newton snorts, but Hermann keeps going. “Dammit, Newton, I’m a _doctor_ , not a…not a _wood elf_!”

Newton claps him on the shoulder, lips pressed together to keep from smirking. “Nice reference, Legolas, but I’m afraid that’s the wrong franchise. Although it _would_ be interesting to see the Fellowship on the Enterprise. What do you think; Pippin as Chekov? And Aragorn as Kirk, definitely. Me being Kirk, then, by extension.”

“How come you always get to be the dashing heroes, and I’m stuck as second fiddle?”

Newt brushes invisible dirt off both of his shoulders. “What can I say? I’m a rock star, dude. I am a certified badass.”

“ _No_ , you’re a certified _doctor_ , and I’m still unsure as to how you got those six degrees.”

Geiszler ignores Hermann and checks his watch, then jumps. “Herm, we’re gonna be late! We have to go catch the subway!”

What happened to _driving_ there? “ _What_? Doctor Newton Geiszler, if you think I’m going to go out on _public transportation_ like this, then you are sadly mistaken-”

Newton draws his sword, Andùril, an impressive officially licensed replica from Weta Workshops. He links his arm through Hermann’s and dashes to the door. “Forth Eorlingas!”

* * *

 

“This place is _huge_!” Newt exclaims gleefully, drinking in the sight of the convention centre. The line to get in extends all the way around the block, which only makes Hermann sigh. Not only do they have to wait awhile, but he’ll get more stares walking by the residents taking their daily jogs or making their way to the nearest coffee shop. It was bad enough on the subway, with old woman staring at him incredulously and little children tugging on their parents’ hands, pointing at him and Newton.

“Why aren’t…why aren’t they staring?” Contrary to his original thoughts, it is Hermann who gapes at the normally dressed citizens walking by. He doesn’t _want_ attention- far from it; he’s the biggest introvert he knows-, but he just… _expected_ it.

“It’s the norm here. Just look at everyone!” Newton points to some other people in line, in their extraordinary and fantastical costumes. Hermann spots Stormtroopers and Avengers and Klingons and Browncoats, and some characters he doesn’t even know the name of but has seen on the covers of Newton’s endless collection of movies and video games and comic books.

“Have you ever been to one of these?”

“I think that was back in…holy shit, wow. It was back in 2010. I went with my mom.” Newt smiles brilliantly at Hermann and his chest puffs up with pride. “We went as Beverly and Wesley Crusher.”

Hermann doesn’t think he’s met anyone who fits the description of Wesley Crusher so well.

“Dude, dude, dude!” Newton squeaks, repeatedly hitting and touching Hermann’s arms and chest. “Did you see that? _Tell me_ you just saw that!” He looks as if he might urinate in his pants.

“See _what_?”

“God _dammit_ , Hermy, you _did_ miss it! There was a dude dressed like a friggin’ _Rancor_! He was, like, ten feet tall!” He stares at Hermann seriously and nods his head sharply. “I’m gonna go and find him. I _need_ a picture with him. You stay here and save our spots.”

Before Hermann can protest, Newt is dashing off in search of the Rancor, camera in hand. Hermann can only hope that the wait won’t be for much longer.

* * *

 

Hermann’s head is spinning by the time they sit down for _Firefly_ ’s 25th anniversary panel. It’s absolutely boiling in the convention centre, and it doesn’t help that Hermann is stuck in an absurd costume. The wig sticks uncomfortably to his forehead, and his hand is slick with sweat, making it hard to grip his cane. He supposes the situation could be worse, though. He could have been stuck in an Iron Man costume (although knowing his companion, Newt would have insisted on being Tony Stark, while Hermann would have been forced to be Bruce Banner). 

Hermann remembers watching _Firefly_ as a teenager, and like every dedicated Browncoat, was outraged when they cancelled it. He’d dressed up as Captain Mal for Halloween one year, a costume his mother had insisted on sewing herself. No one really knew who he was, apart from his small group of friends. He hadn’t been offended back then; on the contrary, he was relieved. _Firefly_ was _his_ show to watch, not any of his other classmates’.  

He’s glad to see that it still has such a huge following, but he does not voice that opinion to Newton. He does not want Newton to know that he is right about something; he’ll never shut up about it. So he quietly sits there in his excitement and listens to Newt and the guy sitting in front of them- dressed up like Commander Shepard from _Mass Effect_ \- talking about how _absolutely fucking awesome and incredible_ Jayne Cobb is. Hermann agrees, although he’s always been more of a fan of Zoë. Strong women in sci-fi are his weakness, what can he say.

The cast comes out to take their places at the long table, microphones in front of each of them. “I’m gonna piss myself!” Newton whispers in Hermann’s ear, squeezing his forearm. “I have been waiting for this _for my whole life_.”

“It came out when you were _twelve_ , Newton.”

“ _My. Whole. Life,_ Hermann.” He makes grabby hands toward the cast members. Jewel Staite actually waves at the pair, and Hermann blushes. Newt waves back enthusiastically, and he almost hits Hermann in the face. Hermann remembers having a huge crush on the cute mechanic, and had spent hours upon hours thinking about feeding her strawberries and buying her any and all of the big, silly, puffy dresses she wanted.

If Newton found out that he’d written fanfiction when he was younger, he would never live it down. So he keeps his mouth shut and waves back to Jewel, mustering a shy smile.

“Morena Baccarin has still got it,” Newt admits, letting out a low whistle and leaning back in his chair. “I always wanted her to be my companion. Spend hours and hours in her shuttle…” He sighs dreamily and rests his chin on his hand. Hermann feels strangely jealous, even though he’d just been reminiscing on his fantasies about Kaylee Frye. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that Newton still obviously has affections and an attraction towards _Serenity_ ’s infamous courtesan, while Hermann only has eyes for his crazy but adorable lab partner. (And since when is Hermann _sentimental_?)

Newt finds Hermann’s hand and laces his fingers through his, squeezing reassuringly. And, Hermann realizes with a tiny, crooked smile, maybe Newton feels the same.

* * *

 

Hermann’s mobile rings while Newt is taking a bathroom break. Leaning against the tile wall, Hermann picks up. “Doctor Gottlieb.” Saturday is _his day off_. Who in their right minds would be calling him _now_?

“It’s Tendo,” the voice on the other line chirps. “What’s up, man?”

“Quite a lot, to be honest. Doctor Geiszler managed to drag me to the local _comic con_ , and I’m still not exactly sure how that happened…” He must look rather silly, he thinks. A wood elf on a cell phone. He has a feeling that Newton would bust a gut laughing if he told him that.

“You’re at a _comic convention_?” Tendo snorts and a laugh escapes him. “I’m sorry, man, but that’s hilarious. I never pegged you for the fanboy type. Who are you dressed up as?”

Hermann mumbles his reply.

“Sorry, Doc, I couldn’t hear you.”

A bit louder this time.

“Doc, I don’t know if it’s because of all the loud geeks there, or maybe because you’re embarrassed, but I can’t-”

“I’m Legolas, _all right_?” Hermann snaps, earning him a couple of stares from passersby.

“You’re fucking _Legolas_?” Tendo’s cracking up now, and Hermann has to hold the phone a few inches away from his ear so he won’t go deaf. “Man, Newton _really_ has it out for you! What happened, you didn’t give him good head last night or something?”

“I’ll have you know that Doctor Geiszler is Aragorn, so I am not alone, and he is _very_ pleased with my skills in the bedroom, and- and why am I telling you this?”

“Gross, Doc. That was something called a joke. I didn’t actually wanna hear the details.” Hermann can _see_ Tendo shuddering. “Anyway, have fun with your little _escapades_. Maybe you’ll make a few nerdy friends.” He hangs up before Hermann can form a retort.

Tendo shouldn’t be talking, not when he always dresses like the Eleventh Doctor. And if that’s not what Tendo would call nerdy, then Hermann doesn’t know what is.

“Hey, Herm, everything all right?” Newton asks, coming out of the washroom and wiping his hands on his trousers. Hermann almost chastises him, because there are things called paper towels and does he know how much that costume costs? but he keeps his mouth clamped shut.

“It was just Tendo. He thinks that it’s dreadfully embarrassing that we’re here.”

“He’s just jealous I didn’t invite him. But, hey, I wouldn’t go without my Hermy.” Newt pinches Hermann’s cheek, and the Brit scowls deeply. A couple of girls walk by, gaping, _oh my god that’s Doctor Geiszler and Doctor Gottlieb dressed as Aragorn and Legolas and holy hell they are **touching** _ and Hermann doesn’t have the heart to tell them to delete the pictures.

“Besides,” Newton drawls, slinging an arm over Hermann’s shoulder and directing him back toward Artists’ Alley, “once I show Tendo our _Firefly_ photo op, he’ll _totally_ regret calling it nerdy.”

* * *

 

“Dude, you need more pictures.”

“Newton, I’m fine-”

“No, it’s not fair! Do you know how many people you stopped for me? Pick any person here and I’ll get a picture of you with them.” Hundreds of people in costumes walk by, some better than others. Hermann recognizes the girl in the TARDIS dress Newt had freaked out over, and sees the Commander Shepard guy they spoke to from the _Firefly_ panel.

“Newton, really, it’s fine.” He doesn’t admit that he really doesn’t want a reminder of him wearing this costume, especially since he’s self-conscious enough, and he only looks worse today. But if he tells Newt that, his lab partner will only swoon and fawn and _gush_ and assure him how _beautiful_ and _wonderful_ he is, and Hermann isn’t in the mood to hear that right now. He’s not the best with compliments. He prefers to be on the other side of the camera, and Newt can hog it all he wants, with his devil-may-care attitude and confident swagger.

“Ooh, ooh, I got it!” Hermann doesn’t even have time to react, before Newton is shoving him towards a _very_ scantily clad version of Harley Quinn. “Hey, Harley, mind if my buddy here gets a picture?”

“Not at all, boys,” she says with a catlike grin on her lips. She slips her arm under Hermann’s cloak and presses herself against him. He tries to smile at her, but he’s certain that it ends up looking more like a grimace.

“Touch her hammer, Hermy!” Newton calls, steadying the camera in his hands. Blushing and fumbling, Hermann grips the handle, right above where she holds it. It’s an impressive hammer, really, and the costume too, but Newt just has a knack for embarrassing him.

The flash momentarily stuns him, and by the time his sight is back, Harley has sauntered off. He rubs his eyes and lets Newt curl a hand around his bicep. “That was-”

“Awesome?”

“Terribly discommoding.”

“I don’t really know what that means, but we better hurry or else we’ll miss the video game tournament!”

* * *

 

If Hermann thought the open area section of the centre was hot, then he does not think any word in the English language can describe how _excruciatingly torrid_ it is in the room for the video game tournament. Everyone is cramped together, and since the schedule is booked for the other rooms and the convention is poorly planned, they’ll have to suffer through it for the next hour. Hermann at least found a place to sit down, after someone dressed as Samus Aran generously gives up her seat for him upon realizing that his bow is in fact a cane. Newton tries to sit in his lap while the moderator lists off the rules, but between only being able to sit on one of Hermann’s thighs, and his sword knocking against any and all limbs, Newt eventually gives up and stands next to Hermann with a noticeable slump to his shoulders. Hermann opens his mouth to offer him his seat, but Newton shuts him up with a wave of his hand; he’s always worried about the condition of Hermann’s leg.

Newt is put up against a giant walking Tribble, complete with sound effects every time she takes a step. Newt meets Hermann’s gaze and very obviously points to her, cooing and gushing about how adorable she looks. The girl smiles, and Hermann can see a hint of a blush on her cheeks; “It’s not every day rock-star-scientist Newton Geiszler flirts with a girl,” Newt would say proudly. “Or anyone, really; you’re just too cute, Hermy! I only have eyes for you.” He would proceed to pinch Hermann’s cheek, and Hermann scowls at the phantom touch.

Everyone’s eyes are glued to the large projector screen as Newt and Tribble Girl battle it out in a raucous game of _Super Smash_. Hermann finds himself on the edge of his seat, gripping his cane so tightly that his knuckles are almost transparent. His heart beats loudly, and he must want Newton to win this game more than Newt does himself. He knows that he’ll never hear the end of it if Newt loses; he has always been a rather poor sport. But it’s not even his complaining that Hermann wants to risk; he hates seeing the utter dejection on Newt’s face, with his shoulders hanging low and his barely concealed sniffles.

Newt ends up losing with five seconds left in the match. He almost slams his controller down, but stops himself as Hermann shoots him a warning look. Newt sighs and accepts the consolation prize- a packet of _Halo_ stickers- with dignity, and shakes Tribble Girl’s hand. Newton sits back down in Hermann’s lap and instantly tears the plastic off the pack of stickers. Tribble Girl receives a copy of _Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag_ , despite that being almost fifteen years old now. Newt still glares enviously, and focuses on taping his stickers to the back of his phone.

“I can’t believe I lost,” he grumbles, the plastic wrapping crunching in his hands. “She’s dressed as a _Tribble_ , Hermy! A purring, cooing, _ball of fur_!” Hermann almost protests that the girl is in fact a human being and most likely does not purr when stroked (Newt would beg to differ; she would if you did it right, he’d say). Although, Hermann silently admits, she may have endearing qualities to humans and Vulcans, considering her wide eyes and dimpled cheeks.

“You did very well,” Hermann assures him, patting his thigh.

Newton looks up at him, bottom lip jutted out into a pout. It must be a sight, Hermann thinks, to see Aragorn sitting in Legolas’ lap and beginning a temper tantrum that may build to be envied by toddlers everywhere. “The next prize is a really big Kaiju stuffie,” Newt says, his chin trembling. Hermann isn’t certain if this is the most pathetic thing he’s ever seen, or the cutest. “Would you win it for me?”

“And what, exactly, do you need a _Kaiju stuffie_ for?”

“It’s not _a need_ , Hermann!” Newt falls back against Hermann’s chest, holding the back of his hand to his forehead. “It’s a _want_! I saved the goddamn world-”

“ _We_ saved it, Newton. And, frankly, we have the Jaeger pilots to thank for the most of it-”

“-so what’s wrong if I want to be selfish for once?”

“Who will join us in our next round?” the moderator asks, looking around for volunteers.

“I will!” Hermann says, though no one hears him. He repeats it again, louder this time, and everyone whips their heads in his direction. He flushes red under their stares, but does not let that get to him. He all but pushes Newton off his lap, who slides onto the floor with a quiet _oomph_. Newt doesn’t make any move to get up, and cheers loudly as Hermann trudges to the front of the room, cane _click_ ing with every step.

Hermann pays no heed to his opponent; he has to keep his eye on the ball. It’s one thing for Newton to lose, but Hermann? No, Hermann has to win this for Newt. He could not forgive himself if it is him who causes the slump to Newt’s shoulders and the watery look in his eyes. He has to help Newt relish in his occasional ‘selfish’ desires, no matter how insignificant and materialistic.

He isn’t exactly sure what happened, but suddenly, there’s cheering and whooping and his character on the screen is bouncing up and down with a big smile on her face. The game informs him that Sheik has defeated Kirby; the realization hits him. Newt runs up to him and wraps him in a hug so tight, Hermann is sure his ribs will break. Still, he doesn’t want to ruin his lab partner’s mood, and he lets Newt clutch onto him. He hears a few ‘aww’s from the audience, and he does not have the heart to muster a glare in their direction.

“You did it!” Newt exclaims, gladly accepting the offered Kaiju plushie. He holds it to his chest, embracing the plush, and Hermann’s wondering how Newt will be able to lug it around for the rest of the day. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.” He claps Hermann on the shoulder, and the two begin to walk out of the room. “I never knew you had it in you!”

When they’re in the doorway, and when no one is looking, Newt sneaks a swift kiss on Hermann’s cheek. Hermann’s skin tingles where Newt’s lips touched for the whole day, and his blush is certainly bound to become permanent.

* * *

 

Newt’s perusing a kiosk dedicated to _Justice League_ bobbleheads, inspecting with an intensity that Hermann has never seen before. Even in the lab, Newt has never been this focused. “It’s a very important matter,” he explains, lifting his glasses off the bridge of his nose as he bends to look at a figurine of Aquaman. “These things can be worth a lot of money one day.” Hermann isn’t exactly sure who would want to buy a _twenty inch Aquaman figurine_ out of all things, but he keeps his mouth shut. He is not an expert of collectibles, by far (Newton has made sure to tell him that repeatedly).

“Newton, they have nice _Game of Thrones_ ones over there-”

“Go and check for me! I can’t. Leave. This. Kiosk.” Hermann is about to suggest getting psychological help, but thinks better of it, since he knows it really won’t do Newton any good. So he merely shrugs and walks over to the other booth down the aisle, brushing and pushing past everyone in the way.

Right near the booth, he spots a familiar, full and thick head of hair. Furrowing his brow, he stands on his tiptoes in hopes of getting a better view. The man’s costume are simple Jedi robes, both elegant and practical. A replica of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber hangs from his hip, brushing the tops of his knee-high leather boots. Going as Jedi would have been much better; he’ll have to tell Newton that. He just hopes that Newton won’t take it as him planning for next year’s comic con.

Hermann purposely bumps into the man, almost knocking the TARDIS piggybank from his arms. “ _What the hell are you doing here_?” both men shout, staring at each other as if the other has three heads.

“I _told_ you,” Hermann snaps, crossing his arms over his chest, “Newton brought me here. I am merely doing a favour for my, erm… _my friend_. And what about _you_ , Mister Comic-Con-Is-So-Hilarious?” He never thought he’d see the day where he’d actually _defend_ comic conventions.

Tendo flushes red at that. “So I thought it would be fun to go. What’s wrong with that? I just didn’t know you two were going to show up. I thought you would think it was lame if I went.”

“In case you haven’t realized, Tendo Choi, I am currently wearing spandex and a platinum blond wig.” They both crack a smile at that, and the tension eases from Tendo’s shoulders. “In all honesty, this _is_ rather lame. But _do not_ tell Doctor Geiszler I said that.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Tendo says seriously, eyes widening. “He already sounds like a cat getting stepped on. I’d hate to hear him _yelling_.” Everyone in the Shatterdome has heard Newton yell, though; the walls were thin, and he and Hermann had bickered _a lot_. Looking back, it seems almost childish. But then again, it was what made Newt and Hermann exactly that: Newt and Hermann.

“ _Tendo fucking Choi_!” Newt screeches, and Hermann has to press his fingers to his ear to stop the ringing. Newt drags the Kaiju plushie behind him, looking like _such_ a man-child that Hermann has to let out a chuckle. “What the actual _fuck_ are you doing here? Hermann said-”

“Believe me, I know what Hermann said.” Tendo shoots a glare in Hermann’s direction, though his eyes are glinting with amusement.

“Did you go to the _Firefly_ panel?”

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you’re talking to? Of _course_ I went.”

Newt scrounges around in his backpack, and Hermann hopes that Newton doesn’t crumple any of the posters, autographs and photos that are in there. It’s not even the fact that they paid good money for them; Hermann just _knows_ that Newt will end up complaining about it endlessly.

“Check this shit out!” Newt says gleefully, thrusting the _Firefly_ photo op in Tendo’s face. Tendo retaliates by showing him his photo with the _Merlin_ cast, in honour of the show’s upcoming twentieth anniversary. Hermann briefly regrets going to the video game competition instead of attending the _Merlin_ panel, but the look on Newt’s face when he’d handed him the Kaiju stuffie was priceless.

Hermann slinks off back to the bobblehead kiosk and reaches into his backpack for his wallet. He can still hear Newt and Tendo geeking out, fanboying until one of them will hyperventilate and pass out, or piss their pants. (And Hermann has a feeling that if it’s Newt who pisses his pants, Hermann will be in charge of cleaning him up, which does not interest him in the slightest, thank you very much.)

He catches the attention of the cashier, and points to the large Aquaman figurine. The price is something ridiculous- _at least_ seventy-five bucks-, but for once in his life, Hermann doesn’t care about the numbers. He hands over the money with a smile, and scoops up the figurine. The cost is already gone from his mind as he slips his wallet back into his bag. The only thing he can focus on is how Newton’s face will look when he presents him with the figurine, and he can already feel Newt’s arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.

(But Hermann will have to hold off until Tendo leaves to give Newt the figurine.)

* * *

 

Hermann has to practically carry Newt onto the subway, and he’s not exactly sure how he manages that feat. He’s leaning on his cane, with his other arm around Newt’s waist, teeth grinding almost as loud as the churning gears on the subway. Newt is already nodding off, and Hermann is _convinced_ that his lab partner is a six-year-old child. He doesn’t know how their relationship works out, but he does not complain. He would not have it any other way.

“So tired,” Newt mumbles, plopping down in an empty seat. Hermann follows, sighing with relief as he slides his backpack from his shoulders. His joints are aching, and he does not think he’s ever walked this much. “I feel like I haven’t slept in a week. God, and I’m so sweaty. Do you know how disgusting that is?”

Hermann cracks a tiny smile at that and leans back in his seat. The subway benches are hardly comfortable, but they’ll have to do. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he’s in the warm, plush bed in his and Newt’s apartment. Newton’s muttering makes the situation real enough, with his thigh pressed up against Hermann’s. Hermann is _exhausted_ , but it is pleasant, somehow; he knows he spent the day well.

“Why the _fuck_ do we even sweat?”

“To regulate our bodies’ temperature, of course.”

“I’m a Kaiju specialist; I could care less about humans.” Newt rests his head on Hermann’s shoulder, and within moments, Hermann hears the faint snoring of his colleague. He’s glad that the subway is empty; there’s no one to bother them. Newt can sleep peacefully, until they reach their stop. The bus ride after is twenty minutes to their apartment, but Hermann might just call a cab to make it easier on the both of them.

Newt’s camera slips out of his hand, and Hermann catches it just in time. Carefully, he turns the device on, curiosity getting the best of him. He flicks through the day’s pictures, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Some of the pictures are shaky, since Newt is not the best photographer, but that makes Hermann love the pictures even more. They are so utterly _Newton Geiszler_ ; Hermann could pick them out anywhere, no contest.

He stifles a yawn and continues to look through the pictures. He almost laughs at the photo of him and Harley Quinn; he looks absolutely mortified. His shoulders shake with silent chuckles, but Newt does not wake from his slumber. “You must be proud of yourself,” Hermann whispers, craning his neck ever so slightly to look at his lab partner. “The things you make me do, Doctor Geiszler. It’s remarkable, I must say.”

He shuts off the camera and puts it back into Newt’s bag. He tries not to move too much; he does not want to wake Newt up. He wraps an arm around Newt’s waist, and his colleague instantly snuggles up to his side. Hermann thinks he feels a drop of drool drip onto his costume, but he gives Newt the benefit of the doubt and doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Newton, and almost laughs again; Newt’s right. He _is_ sweaty, and it _is_ disgusting.

Hermann is much too happy to care.        


End file.
